


Mordred's First Kill

by Python07



Series: King and Country [16]
Category: Kingsman (Movies), Still Game (TV), The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Amnesia Darts, Angst, Armand as Mordred, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack Crossover, Emrys is young Merlin, Hurt/Comfort, Jack as a Kingsman Knight, M/M, Young Armand as a Kingsman Knight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-05 09:59:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14615928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Python07/pseuds/Python07
Summary: Mordred's first kill doesn't just effect him.





	1. Old Merlin aka Old Ironsides

Old Merlin hated it when his den was invaded. He was trying to guide an agent to safety and give Emrys some experience. They didn’t need an audience. The agents may have been trying to show moral support, but they did nothing but get under his feet. And, for the fifth time, he didn’t need any bloody tea. They all made it bloody wrong anyway. He refused to even think about their coffee. Sludge had better consistency.

He had every bit of information on the mission on the board to his left. He had files on anyone of note and most of the others that weren’t. He had timetables, plans, blueprints, and photographs. The screen before him was blank because Emrys’ tech crapped out. Again. They would need to have a serious conversation after all of this was over. If Emrys couldn’t improve his tech, then they wouldn’t be using it.

There was a scuffle in his ear. He held a hand over his ear to try and hear better. Even after all of his experience, his heart rate jumped but he gave no outward sign. “Mordred,” he tried again. He kept his voice even, stern, and implacable. “Agent, respond.”

“What’s going on here?”

The newly minted Arthur’s imperious voice grated on Merlin’s nerves. “Out,” Merlin barked.

“You can’t tell me--” Arthur began to protest.

Merlin took a moment to mute his radio. He threw a glacial glare over his shoulder. “I have an agent in a precarious situation. He needs my full attention and you are not a help here, merely a hindrance.” He sneered at the lot of them. “That goes for all of you. Get out so we can get on with it.”

Arthur planted his feet. “I--”

Merlin flicked his eyes to Bors, who gave a minute nod. “I already sent for Morgan,” he said tersely. “See what’s keeping him.”

Bors just nodded again.

Merlin turned back around. He ignored Bors taking Arthur’s arm to usher him out and order the others to clear off or suffer the pain of his displeasure. He heard more grunts and the sound of flesh meeting heavy objects. “Mordred.” 

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Emrys whispered, horrified. “Simple intel gathering.”

Merlin looked to his protégé. He smacked him on the back of the head. “Emrys, focus!”

Emrys jerked. He looked at Merlin with wide eyes. “I…” he stuttered.

Merlin smacked Emrys in the back of the head again. “I know he’s your friend. If you want to help him, keep it together. We need eyes on the situation. You can fall apart later.”

Emrys started typing furiously. “Is that what you do?”

“Sometimes,” Merlin answered dryly. He refrained from wincing as the sounds of the fight continued. He wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers. His voice didn’t falter. “Mordred, you’re a God damn Kingsman. I don’t care how fucking green you are. Whatever this is, you will handle it.”

Morgan rushed in and jumped into the seat on Merlin’s other side. “I’m here, Boss. What do we need?”

“Mordred, stay with me.“ Merlin willed the agent to hear him. “Extraction for Mordred,” he growled to Morgan. “The situation is hot. Code red.”

Morgan grabbed the nearest phone. “Got it. Gawain is the closest. I’ll have him en route in five minutes.”

Sweat dripped down the side of Emrys’ face. “I think I have it.”

The screen before them flickered to life with grainy black and white security footage. The view was from a corner, high up. Several guards were strewn about the floor. The last one was seven feet tall and held Mordred up against the wall by his throat.

“He looks like Jaws,” Emrys breathed out.

Merlin swiftly smacked Emrys in the back of the head again while speaking to Mordred, crisp and cold like an Artic winter. “Agent, you will kill him before he kills you.”


	2. Mordred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not sure. All I know is that suddenly my cover is blown and a man the size of Goliath tried to take my head off.”

Mordred could barely breathe with the large, meaty hand wrapped around his throat. The thug bared his teeth and snarled at him. He couldn’t reach the thug’s elbow or kick him with enough force to get free. He grabbed the man’s wrist and tried to dig his fingers in.

“Agent, you will kill him before he kills you.”

Merlin’s parade ground bark cut through the gathering fog in Mordred’s brain. His heart pounded and the adrenaline sparked in his veins. He struggled some more. The thug leaned in close to him to spit and snarl in his face.

“I didn’t waste my time training you. Now, Mordred.” 

Mordred shut his eyes for a brief moment. He palmed a small stiletto. He jammed it in the man’s throat and twisted.

Hot blood sprayed Mordred’s face and hand. The thug’s eyes rolled back in his head. He dropped like a pile of bricks.

Mordred hit the floor, hard, and dropped his knife. He lay still, gasping for air, but his lungs burned. He rubbed the red marks on his throat. He didn’t realize that he was shaking.

“Well done,” Merlin said, supportive, but still like a drill sergeant. “But you’re not finished yet. Extraction is en route. Do you have the disk?”

Mordred shook his head to clear it. He ran a hand down his face. “Yes,” he rasped.

“Good man. On your feet, Agent. You have to move before the other guards come to. Now.”

Mordred absently wiped his hands on the thug’s pant leg. He grabbed his knife and staggered to his feet. He slipped it back into its sheath hidden inside his jacket arm. He snatched his gun from where it skidded across the floor when the thug tackled him and slammed him against the wall.

“Take the door at your left. The hall will lead you out a side door on the east side of the building. Gawain will be there momentarily.”

Mordred nodded. He cautiously opened the door only to have another guard take a swing at him with the butt end of a rifle. He ducked, grabbed the guard’s arm to pull him close, and jabbed his elbow into the man’s face. He sent the man face first into the wall. The man whimpered and crumpled to the floor.

“There are more coming,” Merlin stated flatly. “Get out now.”

Mordred had to take out two more guards before he came to a heavy door. He heard boots coming behind him. He pushed the door open and stumbled out into the sunlight. He took a deep breath and held his side. A cherry red sports car skidded to a stop before him.

Gawain leaned over to push the passenger door open. He grinned at Mordred. “Your chariot awaits.”

“What in blue blazes is that?” Merlin growled over the open channel between the three of them. “Apparently, I must have another talk with you, Gawain, about discretion and secrecy.”

Mordred let out a startled laugh but cut it short when he winced. He dropped into the passenger seat and pulled the door shut. “Flash bastard. Where did you get it?”

“Our drug kingpin has a garage full of nice cars. The bastard has good taste in motors.”  
Gawain laughed maniacally and they were off with a squealing of tires and spray of gravel. “Might as well steal something fun. Besides, they’ll never catch us in this. And,” he drawled, drawing the word out. “I left a few surprises behind. You know you love me, Merlin.”

“I love you like another hole in the head,” Merlin shot back. 

Gawain clutched his chest. He effortlessly took a sharp right turn with one hand on the wheel. “You wound me to the core, Old Ironsides.”

“I’ve told you time and again not to call me that. It’s unprofessional,” Merlin snapped. “How many lighter grenades did you leave behind?”

Gawain cackled gleefully. “Five.”

“Five,” Mordred echoed just in time for the explosions to sound in the distance rapidly disappearing behind them. He didn’t bother to look back. Instead he pulled the tie from his hair and shook his curls loose.

Gawain glanced over at Mordred. He frowned. “You all right?”

Mordred ran a hand through his hair. His heart was still thumping in his chest. He swallowed but his throat was dry. “I think so.”

Gawain slipped a flask from his pocket and tossed it to Mordred. “Have a nip of that.”

Mordred coughed at the burn from the scotch. He took another drink, slower. He slumped back in the seat. He involuntarily shut his eyes.

“What happened in there?” Gawain asked softly.

Mordred waved a hand. Other than that, he didn’t move and didn’t open his eyes. “I’m not sure. All I know is that suddenly my cover is blown and a man the size of Goliath tried to take my head off.”

Merlin’s voice lacked the usual acidic edge but was still no-nonsense. “You did well in there, Mordred.”

Mordred’s body started to ache. He sighed heavily. “Thank you, Sir.”

Gawain snorted. “Sir.”

Merlin growled. “That’s enough out of you, Gawain.”

Mordred heard the jet engine but he didn’t really notice it though the fatigue beginning to set in. He jerked when the car came to a sudden stop. He bolted upright to sit on the edge of the seat.

Gawain reached over to pat his shoulder and retrieve the flask. “It’s all right,” he said, easy and calm. “Five minutes and we’re out of here.”


	3. Gawain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know. It feels like you’ve been hit by a bus, but it will pass,” he whispered. “It’s all right now.”

“I assume we’re no longer recording.” Gawain murmured in his radio, barely loud enough for Merlin to hear and over the private frequency. He lingered at the bottom of the stairs while Mordred disappeared inside the jet.

“Of course. Do you take me for a fool?” Merlin demanded.

Gawain chuckled. “No.”

“Oh, be serious.”

Gawain abruptly stopped. He took a deep breath and said solemnly, “I’ll take care of him.” 

“See that you do,” Merlin ordered tersely.

Gawain allowed himself a small, private smile. “I know you’re worried, but he’ll be fine. He’s a tough lad.”

Merlin sniffed. “I do not worry.”

“Sure you don’t,” Gawain replied easily. “You’re not a mother hen from hell.” 

“It’s just…” Merlin growled in annoyance and a hint of embarrassment. “Not only did things go pear shaped but it was his first.”

“I know. It’s a bitch right enough,” Gawain agreed readily. He turned in a circle for a quick scan of their surroundings. “No sign of any baddies. How’s my Alec holding up?”

“Emrys…” Merlin made sure to enunciate the code name clearly and crisply. “…is a bit shell shocked, but he had to learn the lesson sometime,” he answered grimly. “There’s no such thing as a milk run.”

Gawain sighed. “No, there is not. Shit can hit the fan at a moment’s notice.”

“I had hoped that young Mordred doesn’t have your luck,” Merlin drawled.

“Hey,” Gawain said in mock offense.

“Shut it, Gawain. Get on the plane and get Mordred back here.”

Gawain saluted even though Merlin couldn’t see him. He wore the smirk that always infuriated Old Ironsides. His tone was insolent and teasing. “Sir, yes Sir.”

“I’ll see you when you get back. Merlin out.”

Gawain could just see Merlin rolling his eyes. He snickered to himself and trotted up the steps. He found Mordred silently staring out the window and took the seat across from him. He saw the blood on Mordred’s face, hands, and clothes. He saw the bruises forming on Mordred’s neck. He noticed the way Mordred sat, trying to protect his side.

Gawain waited until they were safely in the air before he sat forward and tapped Mordred’s knee. “Lad.”

Mordred started. He blinked and looked at Gawain. “Jack,” he murmured at a loss.

Jack frowned sympathetically. He moved slowly as he stood up and reached for his arm. “Come on, Armand,” he said softly in his normal Scottish burr as opposed to Gawain’s crisp, precise accent.

Armand stared at Jack a moment longer, not seeming to register what Jack wanted. He let Jack help him up. He winced in pain, but said nothing.

Jack helped Armand out of his jacket and left it on the seat. Then he wrapped an arm around Armand’s shoulders. “I know. It feels like you’ve been hit by a bus, but it will pass,” he whispered. “It’s all right now.”

The bathroom on the jet was just big enough for them to fit without constantly bumping into each other. Jack pulled Armand’s shirt free of his trousers and pushed Armand down to sit down on the toilet lid. He started unknotting Armand’s tie. “Let’s have a look at ye.”

“I’m all right,” Armand tried to protest but didn’t make any moves to stop Jack. He sat still, with his shoulders slumped and an aire of fatigue about him. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just have a headache.”

Jack stopped to root around in their first aide supplies for some painkillers. He pressed two pills into Armand’s hand and filled a plastic cup with water. He held the cup out to him expectantly. “Take those. It should help.”

Armand threw the pills back and swiftly washed them down. “Thanks.”

“Nae bother.” Jack finished with Armand’s tie and tossed it over his shoulder. He started on the buttons of Armand’s shirt. He snorted and offered a cheeky smile. “And you’re about as all right as I’m likely to cheer bloody England in the World Cup.”

Armand let out a startled laugh but hissed in pain almost immediately after. “Jack.”

“What? You don’t even like football.” Jack waggled his eyebrows. “But your boyfriend does,” he sing-songed.

Armand just shut his eyes and groaned.

Jack laughed. He made an effort for it to be genial but not overly boisterous out of respect for Armand’s head. “I’ll never forget that Christmas when I had to give you a ride to the airport.” He finished with the buttons and spread the material aside to get a look at the deep bruises blooming on Armand’s side. He lightly pressed against Armand’s ribs. “You were wearing that old, stained football jersey with the number seven on the back and had a gigantic hickey on your neck.”

Armand flinched. “It wasn’t gigantic.”

“Then you told me Jean likes seeing you in his clothes,” Jack continued to lightly tease. “Nothing feels broken, but the bruising is a right bastard. That’ll smart for a while.” He tilted Armand’s head back to get a better look at the bruises on his throat. He lightly touched the battered skin. “Just breathe for me for a moment…” He hummed and gave an encouraging smile. “We’ll have medical check you out when we land but I think this is going to be looking worse than it is.” 

Armand tried to stand. “All right.”

Jack put a hand on Armand’s shoulder to keep him down. “Not so fast. We’re not done.” He half turned to turn on the hot water and grabbed a cloth. He started wiping the blood off Armand’s face. “You’ll need a shower but this will do in a pinch. Yes, it was bloody gigantic. That hickey was visible from space.”

Armand kept his eyes closed and leaned into Jack’s touch. He let out another startled laugh. “Don’t do that. It hurts to laugh.”

“It had its own postal code,” Jack added. He finished cleaning Armand’s face and neck and ran the warm cloth over his battered knuckles. “I really need to meet your Jean one of these days.”

Armand leaned forward to rest his forehead against Jack’s stomach. He yawned. “Jack.”

“I know.” Jack took a moment to pet Armand’s hair. Then he pushed Armand back just enough to button his shirt. He helped Armand to stand and lead him back to his seat. This time he took the seat next to him and didn’t comment when Armand fell asleep with his head on his shoulder.


	4. Emrys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You had to learn the lesson sometime. Even the simplest missions can turn into a clusterfuck at a moment’s notice. We must always be prepared.”

Emrys pulled his headset off. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He ran his hands down his face and listened to his own heartbeat. It was unnaturally loud in his ears. He was sweating in places that he didn’t know he could sweat. Butterflies played lacrosse in his stomach.

Merlin dropped his own headset on the desk. He sat back and let out a heavy sigh. “We’ve done all we can for now.” He glanced to his right. “Morgan.”

Morgan nodded once. “I got it, Boss. You’ll know the minute they land.”

Merlin inclined his head. “Good man.” 

“Shall I have some tea brought down?”

Merlin frowned for a moment in thought. “Only if Alice makes it. If not, don’t bother. The rest wouldn’t know a good cup of tea if it bit them in the ass.”

Morgan nodded. He didn’t crack a smile. “Yes, Merlin.” 

Merlin turned in his seat to face Emrys. “Emrys.”

Merlin’s voice was calm and even but Emrys still grimaced. He avoided Merlin’s gaze by staring at the desk top. He saw his hands shaking so he sat on them. “I don’t want any tea,” he grumbled, deliberately misunderstanding.

One end of Merlin’s mouth quirked up. He stood and clamped a hand on Emrys’ shoulder. “Come on, lad.”

“Yes, Sir,” Emrys returned quietly. He swallowed heavily. Then he stood and followed Merlin into the inner office of Merlin’s den. He kept his eyes down on the burgundy, gold, and blue Turkish carpet.

The office was barely big enough for Merlin’s desk, a battered old sofa, a minifridge, a record player sitting on a stand, and a whole rack of jazz, blues, and rock albums. There were no windows, but soft light came from an antique lamp on the corner of the desk. The air carried a faint scent of expensive cigars.

“Sit,” Merlin ordered.

Emrys did so. He sat stiffly, with his hands folded in his lap so that he wouldn’t rub his upset stomach. He still didn’t look at Merlin. 

Blues with a rock beat filled the air. A raspy, low man’s voice filled the air. 

“Emrys,” Merlin began.

“What album is this?” Emrys interrupted. “I don’t recognize the singer.”

“The album is called Burning. It’s from an up and coming Blues artist, Jim Byrnes,” Merlin answered without missing a beat. His feet appeared in Emrys’ field of vision. “Emrys, chin up.”

Emrys shook his head and resolutely didn’t meet Merlin’s gaze. “I messed up,” he whispered, all remorse and guilt. “I thought the tech was ready for the field.”

“There will have to be more work done and more testing before it’s used in the field again,” Merlin said flatly. His voice softened, just a little. “But it’s not the end of the world.”

“I just…” Emrys trailed off. “I thought…” His shoulders slumped and his accent thickened without him realizing it.. “I donnae know what I thought.”

Merlin nudged Emrys’ shoulder and pressed a cold glass bottle and a bottle opener into his hands. “You had to learn the lesson sometime. Even the simplest missions can turn into a clusterfuck at a moment’s notice. We must always be prepared.”

“I know, but hearing it…I felt so helpless.” 

Merlin backed away to the vicinity of his desk. “But you weren’t helpless. We weren’t helpless. We guided Mordred out alive and he’s coming home.” He paused. His voice as soft as it could be and compelling. “Your friend is coming home, a little worse for wear perhaps, but alive and well.” He tsked. “Drink up. You think I keep that shite around for anyone except you, your father, and Gareth?”

Emrys blinked at the bottle in delighted surprise. A small smile slipped through. “Irn Bru?”

Merlin started rummaging in his desk. He sneered but it lacked the usual bite. “I find it terrible myself. Gawain swears on it as a hangover cure. I can’t say I’m convinced.”

Emrys finally looked at Merlin. He saw the same stern visage as always, but there was no anger or derision. Some of the tension in his shoulders lessened. He popped the cap and took a long drink. He sat back against the cushions. He sighed and smiled again, despite himself.

Merlin arched an eyebrow in return. He came back with a small box. He sat on the opposite side of the couch and tossed it into Emrys’ lap.

Emrys’ eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Tunnock’s Tea Cakes. Are you secretly Scottish, Sir?”

Merlin snorted a laugh. “Don’t even joke about such a thing.” He nodded to Emrys. “Go ahead. Wire in. I certainly won’t eat them.”

Emrys all but tore the box open. He unwrapped one the cakes and bit into it with relish. He licked the crumbs off his lips before he could think better of it. “Da’s brought me biscuits from all over the world but nothing beats these.”

Merlin let Emrys enjoy two teacakes before he spoke again. “If you want to become Merlin one day, you must accept the fact that not everything will go to plan. You must be able to think on your feet.” He sat forward and tapped Emrys’ knee. “You will do everything in your power to make sure your agent comes home alive. Some days, it won’t be enough. You will feel awful and angry and guilty. You will get right pissed and make yourself sick because you think you deserve it. It will make you do your utmost to make those tragic days few and far between.”

Emrys sighed heavily. “How do you do it, Merlin?”

Merlin held Emrys’ gaze. “I do it because we make a difference. We save people. It’s a better world because Kingsman is in it.” He chuckled. “The knights get all the glory, but they couldn’t do it without us. Don’t let any of those wankers tell you different.”

Emrys let out another startled laugh. 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Merlin continued blandly. “Bors and Bedeviere are a decent sort.”

“Are you calling Da and Victor wankers?”

Merlin stuck his nose in the air and sniffed. “Gawain and Gareth are something else entirely.” 

There was a sharp knock on the door followed by Morgan’s voice. “Tea, Merlin.”

Emrys started to stand but Merlin waved him off. Merlin went to answer the door. He arched an eyebrow at Morgan.

“The jet is twenty minutes out,” Morgan reported.

Merlin didn’t move out of the way. “Good.” He glanced at Emrys. “We’ll meet them in medical.” He turned his attention back to Morgan and looked at him expectantly.

Morgan rolled his eyes, pushed past Merlin, and went to put the tray on Merlin’s desk. “Yes, Alice made it. She added a couple of those white chocolate peppermint scones for you.”

Emrys’ eyes got wide. “Why have I never seen those in the cafeteria?”

Morgan gave a shit eating grin. “Alice makes ‘em special for Merlin.”

Merlin glowered at Morgan and pointed to the door. “Out.”


	5. Bors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not being squeamish doesn’t mean it was easy or that he enjoyed it.

“How dare they put me out. First Merlin and now this,” Arthur complained as he led the way back into his office.

Bors rolled his eyes at Arthur’s back and shut the door behind them. “You know medical won’t examine agents with an audience. It has been an ironclad rule at Kingsman since our inception.”

Arthur stopped and turned to face Bors. He sniffed. “That may be--”

“Stop,” Bors interrupted. He put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Chester, I don’t care if you are Arthur. You won’t win this. You have to pick your battles.”

“I know, Ian,” Chester sighed in irritation. 

Ian gave a small smile. “I know you’re worried about your boy…” 

Chester’s brow furrowed. “Worried?” he asked as if it was the furthest thing from his mind.

Ian looked at Chester with his own confused look. He watched Chester carefully as he finished, “…but you’ll be able to see him soon. Jack said his injuries look worse than they are.”

Chester scowled at the mention of Jack’s name. “Forgive me if I choose to take Gawain’s opinion with a grain of salt.”

Ian smirked and shook Chester lightly. “Do stop being a snob. Gawain has an impeccable record and he’s a first rate field medic.”

Chester scowled. He opened his mouth to reply but there was a sharp knock on the door. He nodded towards it. “See what that is will you.”

Ian turned to answer the door while Chester went to his drinks cabinet. Ian took the tape from one of Merlin’s techs. He inclined his head in thanks and closed the door. “Here’s the copy of the footage you wanted to see.”

Chester poured two glasses of malt. “Put it on.”

Ian opened the large television cabinet against the far wall. He turned on the TV and fed the tape into the VCR. He grabbed the remote and joined Chester at the desk. He accepted one of the glasses. Then he perched on the front edge of the desk while Chester sat in the plush chair. 

Chester took a sip. “Let’s see it.”

Ian put his glass to the side and folded his arms across his chest as they watched the footage. It was black and white. It was spotty, a bit grainy, and there was no sound.

Ian set his jaw at the sight of Mordred being held against the wall and struggling to get free. Mordred’s thrust with the knife was quick and brutal and he could imagine the burst of terror and adrenaline, the smell of blood and the feel of it as it grew sticky on one’s hands. He knew what it was like to hit the floor, hard, and gasp for breath. He knew what it was like to have one’s heart pounding to burst in his chest and Merlin barking in one’s ear to move your arse.

The last thing they saw was Mordred stumbling to his feet before the screen went dark. Ian turned it off. He bowed his head and closed his eyes for a long moment.

“I have to say that was well done,” Chester piped up, sounding nothing but pleased.

Ian opened his eyes, but didn’t let himself tense. He silently counted to five before he slowly raised his head. He kept his movements languid as he half turned to face Chester. He arched an eyebrow. 

Chester was grinning, proud as can be. He waved towards the TV. “Armand’s first kill. He’s a full fledged, blooded agent now.”

Ian smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “True.”

“Skillful and effective.” Chester’s eyes shined with excitement. He almost bounced in his seat. “I’m pleased to see he’s not squeamish.”

//Not being squeamish doesn’t mean it was easy or that he enjoyed it.// Ian bit his tongue. It would do no good. Chester had always had blinders on when it came to certain aspects of their work. Chester refused to entertain anything that could be construed as weakness in his agents.

“I should take him out to dinner to celebrate.”

“That would be good,” Ian agreed easily. “But not tonight.”

“Why not tonight?” Chester asked sharply.

Ian easy going expression didn’t crack. “You forget you’re to have dinner with Lord Whitcomb tonight,” he answered smoothly.

Chester’s eyes grew comically large. “Oh, that’s right. I’d forgotten.”

“You can’t miss it. This dinner party has been in the works for six months.” Ian’s grin turned sly. “And didn’t you tell me Ms Monica is supposed to be there.”

“That’s right.” Chester downed the rest of his drink in one go. He jumped to his feet. “I must go. I have to get ready.” He stopped at the door. “But shouldn’t I at least check in with Armand? I don’t want him to think I’ve forgotten about him. The occasion should be marked.”

Ian straightened up to follow Chester to the door. He patted Chester’s back. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. I’ll make sure he has a drink.” //And something to eat and his bed and friends to tell him it’s okay to have the shakes.//

Ian saw Chester off before he retreated to his office. He picked up the phone and drummed his fingers against the top of his desk. He listened to it ring five times before a laughing voice answered. There was a second boisterous voice in the background.

Ian stood tall and straight. “Ainsley.”

The laughing abruptly stopped. “Give me a moment,” the voice said earnestly. There was more teasing in the background and a muttered, “Piss off, Jean.” A door closed and the voice was back. “Sir.”

One end of Ian’s mouth quirked up but he kept his tone serious and formal. “Do you still wish to work with Kingsman?”

There was no hesitation. “Yes.”

“Good. Then meet us at Armand’s flat in a half hour.”


	6. Ax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He needs care and I thought it best to come from a familiar face."

It didn’t even occur to Ax to question Bors any further. He came to attention without realizing it. “Yes, Sir. Is he okay?”

“He will be,” Bors answered tersely and the line went dead.

Ax took a deep breath. He didn’t have time to worry about what could’ve happened to Armand. Instead, he plastered a carefree grin on his face and left his bedroom to join Jean in his living room.

Jean sat on Ax’s couch, playing Super Mario Brothers on Ax’s brand new Nintendo on Ax’s new TV. A can of beer and bag of chips sat on the coffee table before him. He gave Ax a shit eating grin. “Ainsley,” he sing-songed.

Ax hung up the phone and rolled his eyes. “Don’t start. Only a few people can get away with calling me that.” He pointed at Jean. “And you’re not one of them.”

Jean chuckled unrepentantly. “Who’s earned the privilege?”

Ax smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He walked behind the couch on his way to the door and the rack with his keys. He ran a hand over Jean’s crew cut hair. “Watch out for that Buzzy Beetle.”

Jean jerked and Mario died. He half turned to swipe at Ax. “I’m almost to Bowser and you just made me waste a life.”

Ax laughed and hurried to get out of the way. He grabbed his keys and stepped around the duffel bag Jean had unceremoniously dumped by the door. He stepped out. “Have fun, Jean. The pizza should be here in ten minutes. Enjoy. The spare pillows and sheets are in the hallway closet.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Don’t go in Joseph’s room cause he always knows and don’t wait up.”

“I finally get leave and you’re abandoning me,” Jean called after him, trying to sound put out but failing miserably. He was already engrossed in playing Mario. “I just got here and you said you would play Luigi.”

“There are much better things than playing Luigi,” Ax shot back over his shoulder. “Call Gaston and Belgard, but my flat better be in one piece when I get home.” 

Jean didn’t turn from the TV. “They’re both busy tonight and they know I’m seeing Armand tomorrow.” He paused the game to glance at Ax hopefully. “He still doesn’t know, right?”

Ax stalled for a split second. He swallowed. “Right. Still a surprise. Save me some pizza,” he said with forced cheer, waved, and swiftly pulled the door shut. He hurried down the stairs. He ran out to the parking lot, jumped in his car, and jammed the key in the ignition.

He had a death grip on the steering wheel and he hit every red light. He was stuck behind an old lady. He swore there were pedestrians moving faster than them.

He finally parked across from Armand’s building. He took a moment to just breathe. He shut his eyes and concentrated on pushing his own anxiety away.

He opened his eyes slowly. He unclenched his hands from the steering wheel. His movements were slow and deliberate to hold onto his calm.

He walked into the building. He took the stairs two at a time but he didn’t run. He knocked once on Armand’s door.

The man who answered was slightly shorter than Ax. He had red hair and a red well trimmed mustache. He wore an impeccable bespoke suit, just like all Kingsman. He tilted his head to the side and looked Ax up and down. “You must be Ainsley,” he greeted in a Scottish brogue.

Ax winced. “Call me Ax, please.”

One end of the man’s mouth quirked up. “Gawain.” He stepped to the side to let Ax inside.

Bors stepped into the living room from the hall. “Ah Ainsley, you’re here,” he said briskly. “Good.”

Ax looked between them. “What happened?”

They exchanged a look before Bors answered stiffly, “Mordred’s mission didn’t go to plan.”

Gawain shut and locked the door. He turned to glare at Bors. “Let’s not beat around the bush,” he growled. “It went tits up in a hurry.”

Bors scowled at Gawain but stepped forward, close to Ax. He regarded Ax intently and lowered his voice. “Mordred recorded his first kill and he didn’t make it through unscathed.” He held a hand up to stop Ax’s protest. “He’ll be fine. He was cleared by medical, but he needs to rest and recuperate. He needs care and I thought it best to come from a familiar face.”

Ax’s stomach dropped. He knew what Kingsman did. He knew that taking a life could be necessary, but he couldn’t imagine Armand having to do it. He took a deep breath and nodded. “Where he is?”

“In the shower,” Gawain answered grimly. “Trying to wash all the blood off. My Alec is keeping him company.”

“Tread softly, Ainsley,” Bors added. “Mordred did what was necessary. He knows it and I hope you do too. Can you be here as a friend and leave all judgment out of it?”

Ax swallowed but nodded to them again. “Yes.” He stuck his chin out at Bors. “He’s my brother. I won’t hurt him.”

Bors stared at Ax a minute longer. Then he took a step back. “Go on. We’ll be here if we’re needed.”

Ax went down the hall towards Armand’s bathroom. He heard water running and an unfamiliar voice, also with a Scottish brogue. “Armand, I’m sorry. I really thought my gadgets were ready for the field. Honestly,” it babbled.

Armand’s voice sounded tired and agitated. “If you apologize one more time, Alec, I will shove some of your tech somewhere impolite.”

Ax peeked in to see a young man sitting on Armand’s toilet, his head in his hands. His head shot up. “But--”

“Enough,” Armand interrupted. “I’m home and the mission was a success. We’ll just have to work on the rest.”

Ax eased away. He went to the linen closet for two towels. Then he knocked and went into the bathroom. Alec shot to his feet and he smiled gently. “I’m Ax.” He placed the towels on the space heater. “How are you doing, Armand?” 

“I’m perfectly well,” Armand snapped. “I’m tired of people asking me that.”

“They only ask because they care,” Ax shot back, not the least perturbed. He gave Alec another encouraging smile and held his hand out. “You must be Alec.”

Alec was a few years younger than them. He was tall and skinny, a bit gangly like he hadn’t grown fully into his body yet. He had his father’s eyes. He hesitated for a moment but took Ax’s hand. “Nice to meet ye. Bors said ye would be coming to help.”

Ax barely touched Alec’s elbow and steered him towards the door. “That’s right,” he said softly. “I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

Alec’s face lit up with the prospect of helping. “Aye. Anything.”

Ax gently shoved Alec into the hall. “See what Armand’s got in the kitchen. A nice bowl of soup and some toast would work.” He made a show of looking over his shoulder and dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “We don’t want him crashing on an empty stomach. And see if your Da has any of the good stuff on him.”

“On it.”

Ax went to lean against the wall next to the shower curtain. “How long are you going to stay in there?” he asked casually. 

“Until you all go away.”

“Not happening.” Ax peeked around the edge of the curtain to see Armand leaning against the tiles, head bowed, and water hitting the back of his neck. He put his head back and stared at the ceiling. “Your skin is turning pruney. Come on. It’s time to get out.”

Armand sighed heavily and pushed away from the wall. He turned off the water and accepted a warm towel from Ax. “Medical cleared me. I’m fine. I don’t need the lot of you hovering.” 

Ax peeked again only to see that Armand’s movements were slow and sluggish but he didn’t rush him. “Tough. I’m not leaving you.”

Armand pulled the curtain back. He had the towel tied around his waist. The bruises on his throat and side were dark and brutal against his pale skin. His eyes were red rimmed and his shoulders slumped in exhaustion. “You’re lucky I don’t feel like fighting with you.”

Ax swallowed a cry of dismay. Instead, he held a hand out to help Armand out of the tub. “I know.” He grabbed the second towel. He kept a hold of Armand’s arm and walked him to his bedroom. He pushed Armand down to sit on the edge of his bed. He used the second warm towel to dry Armand’s hair.

When Ax was finished, he saw Armand’s eyes closed and Armand leaned forward to rest his head against his stomach. He shook Armand’s shoulder a little. “It’s almost time to sleep but not yet.” He ducked to see Aramnd’s face. “Stay with me, just a little while longer.”

Armand just grunted and nodded.

Ax went to Armand’s drawers for a pair of sweatpants and a t shirt. He helped Armand to stand and get dressed. He wrapped an arm around Armand. “You’re going to have something to eat and a stiff drink and then you’re going to sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.” He gave Armand a squeeze. “Okay?”

Armand leaned into Ax. His voice was barely above a whisper. “Okay.”


	7. Jean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Then you answer the fucking questions, Ax.” He waved his arms. “What the hell happened and who are these wankers?”

By now, it was ingrained in Jean to be up at 06:00. He sat up, yawned, and rubbed his eyes. Then he stood, stretched, and went to open the curtains. He peered out but there was no one on the street.

Jean threw on a pair of shorts and t shirt. He grabbed his walkman and went for a run. He was covered in sweat and exhilarated by the time he returned.

He knocked on Ax’s bedroom door but there was no answer. He stuck his head in to see the bed still made. He laughed when he realized that Ax didn’t come home. “Mr. Free Love must have it bad. Must be someone special to call him Ainsley.”

He was still chuckling through his shower. He dressed and then put the pillow and blankets back in the closet. He polished off half a box of cheerios, four pieces of toast, and the rest of Ax’s milk.

He whistled as he left the flat. He sang with the radio in the car. He was smiling as he picked up the groceries and it didn’t even matter when he had to wait in line.

He couldn’t wait. He had it all planned out. He was going to cook for Armand as a surprise welcome home from the business trip. He would make sure Armand had a bath to wash off the grime from the road and then he would lay Armand down on the bed and slowly worship him.

His mouth went dry just thinking about it. His hands itched to touch Armand. He wanted to watch Armand come apart beneath him.

He blinked and shook his head to clear it. He parked his car and grabbed his paper bags. He went inside, took the elevator up to Armand’s floor, and fumbled the key in the lock.

Jean froze at the sight of a man standing by Armand’s couch. His eyes got wide and the bags crunched in his arms. “What the fuck?”

The man was smooth and handsome, tall, with a mane of black hair and dark eyes. The man’s pants were plainly expensive, but wrinkled, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. A matching jacket lay over the back of the couch. There was a pillow and blanket on the floor as if he’d scrambled to his feet. He ran a hand down his face and eyed Jean wearily.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Jean demanded.

The man had the audacity to look amused. “I could ask you the same question.”

Jean set the bags on the entry table. He marched up to the man. His hands were clenched into fists. “I asked you first.” 

“Impertinent people don’t get an answer,” the man replied dryly.

Jean was shouting before he realized it. He barely refrained from shoving the man. “Who the fuck are you? How did you get in here?”

The man just smirked at him.

Jean was ready to throw the man out when Ax rushed into the living room. Ax stepped between them. “Jean, stop. He’s one of Armand’s co-workers. This is…” he paused and glanced over his shoulder.

The man continued smirking. “Ian.”

Jean growled and tried to step around Ax. He didn’t care of Ian was one of Armand’s co-workers. That didn’t mean the man had any right to be here or treat him in such a manner.

“Ian,” Ax repeated. He moved with Jean and eased Jean to take a step back. “Jean, meet Ian. Ian, meet Jean. He’s Armand’s…”

Jean growled again in warning. He didn’t know this person. Ian didn’t need to know his business.

“Friend,” Ax finished lamely.

Ian’s lips twitched in amusement. He sat on the couch, all elegance and poise. “I see.”

Jean’s face was red. He started shouting again. “What’s he doing here? What are you doing here? What is going on?”

Ax grabbed Jean’s arm and hissed, “Keep your voice down.”

Jean bared his teeth and matched Ax. “Why?”

Another man in expensive trousers came in from the guest bedroom. His shirt was open to reveal red chest hair. He was rumpled from sleep. “What is this big to-do?” he asked in a thick Scottish burr. “And try to keep it down before you wake our boys.”

Jean glared at him. “Now, you’ll tell me that he’s another one of Armand’s co-workers.”

“Yes,” Ax answered quickly. “Please, try to calm down, Jean.”

Jean stopped himself from stomping his foot like a child. “I am calm.”

The second man stepped forward. He offered a hearty smile and his hand. “So, you’re Jean. I’m Jack. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Jean looked at the hand suspiciously before he slowly reached out and shook it. “I can’t say the same.”

Instead of being offended, Jack laughed. “I’m going to go start us some coffee.” He waved and turned towards the kitchen. “Nice meeting you, Jean.”

Jean sneered in response.

Ax pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. “Jean, please.”

Jean wanted to shake Ax, but he resolutely kept his hands at his sides. “What’s happening? Is Armand here?”

Ax bit his bottom lip. “Yes, but he’s been injured.”

“What?” Jean yelled. He tried to move past Ax. “Where is he?”

Ax again moved in front of Jean. He held Jean’s gaze. His voice was soft, but firm. “He’s still sleeping, so keep your fucking voice down. He needs care, not questions.”

Jean lowered his voice but didn’t back down. He got in Ax’s face. “Then you answer the fucking questions, Ax.” He waved his arms. “What the hell happened and who are these wankers?”

Ax grabbed Jean’s shoulders. “I can’t. You’d better calm down and shut up or they won’t let you stay.”

Jean easily broke the hold. He was about to storm past Ax when he felt the sudden sting in his neck. His legs buckled, he collapsed in Ax’s arms, and everything went dark.

Hours later, Jean woke to someone shaking his shoulder. He opened his bleary eyes to see Gaston perched on the couch next to him. He sat up slowly and looked around Ax’s flat. His head throbbed and there was a strange taste in his mouth. His mind drew a blank. “What? What’s going on?”

Gaston laughed. “Can’t your remember?” He patted Jean’s shoulder. “You really must’ve tied one on last night. You’ve slept most of today. Ax said I should get you out and get you something to eat.”

Jean shook his head. “I have?”

Gaston handed Jean a glass of water and two aspirin. “I know you’re disappointed that Armand’s trip is going to run long and you won’t get to see him, but did you have to drink yourself into oblivion?”

Jean downed the aspirin and finished the water. His shoulders slumped. “No Armand?”

Gaston smiled sympathetically and stood. “Come on. Get up. Belgard is waiting for us. We’ll have some fun, just the three of us.”

Jean gave a small smile. “Just like old times.”

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of fancasting for the OCs:
> 
> Old Merlin: John Nettles  
> Ian/Bors: Ian McShane  
> Morgan: Colm Meaney  
> Ax: Geoffrey Rush


End file.
